Fire and Ice

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When I woke up this Saturday morning on April 16, 2011, a line from a familiar song was running through my head: “I got a feeling that tonight’s gonna be a good, good night.” Time dragged on and on until two o’clock, when it was time to get ready for Prom 2011, Fire and Ice. I brushed on some smoky eye makeup, slipped into my black and gold sequined dress, then twisted my hair into place and was ready for the night to begin. The overall success of the evening can be gauged by its three main parts: the repast, the dance, then the sleepover afterwards. To begin the affair, my date drove me to a predestined location where a hoard of camera-wielding parents snapped a million pictures, then our oversized group of twenty-eight prom attendees piled onto a party bus.

The bus transported us at a snail’s pace to Brio Tuscan Grille where we had a reservation. After we had all stylishly fallen out of the bus and teetered to the door, the hostess seated our party immediately and efficiently. When my date saw that there was paper covering the table, he jokingly suggested that we should all get crayons to draw on the table with, and without missing a beat a waitress returned with enough boxes of kiddy crayons for every guest. Everyone ordered and then colored until our food arrived, and when it did it was in a flourish of steam and heavenly aromas. My plate of Campanelle Carbonara was creamy, tender, and flavorful, and enjoyed over dynamic conversation. As pleasant as everything was going thus far, I started to get anxious when nine o’clock came and went and we still weren’t ready to head off for the dance. Thankfully this was remedied quickly when we all paid and set sail for the Mariott Buckhead Hotel.

Once my date and I stepped out of the elevator onto the top floor, we could feel the beat pulsing through our feet. After what seemed like an eternity of ticket checking and shoe stashing, we rounded the corner and were hit with a wall of infectious sound and feral heat. My date gave me an antsy look, then snatched my hand and whisked me onto the dance floor. The next two hours were a whirlwind of crazy dancing punctuated by momentary breaks for Dippin Dots or water. The DJ must have been well-paid or just one cool cat, because he played nearly all of the songs that I had been hoping for. With the exception of maybe one or two that I didn’t know, all of the tunes were fun and easy to dance to. As the Junior class president, my date had to toast the Senior class around ten forty-five. I chuckled to myself when he stood up on the stage and gave his toast in the form of a corny poem, then after one or two more songs the sad hour arrived when it was time to leave.

After the bus brought us back home, everyone went their separate ways. Personally, I said goodbye to my date and drove myself over to a girlfriend’s house where five or six of my best friends were already waiting for me. I swapped my long, heavy dress for a cozy set of pajamas then joined my buddies on the bed alongside a panoply of snacks and sodas. While gorging ourselves on sweets, we had a hearty colloquy. We covered all the usual topics that constitute a good and thorough session of girl talk like dresses and crushes and such, then the night finally ended when we drifted off to sleep around three o’ clock in the morning.

Never having attended a Prom before, I didn’t know what to expect of the night. The week leading up to it was complicated with stress over insignificant details. Now looking back I see that I shouldn’t have worried, because the event went by in a blast of tasty food, catchy beats, and jolly gossip. It ended up being just as the Black Eyed Peas put it, “a good, good night.”





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